Show Me Your Mind
by TheGoddamnRiddler
Summary: Former Dr. Johnathan Crane performs multiple experiments on the Riddler, an old ally, at his request. Edward wishes to not only become "the man with all the answers", but also a man with no fears. More chapters to come! Just as a precaution, I do not own any DC Universe characters, otherwise I would be super rich and doing better things with my life than writing fanfiction.
1. Session

"Please," Edward whimpered. "Please don't hurt me, daddy!" he called out childishly. He was a little kid again: weak, defenseless, scared. He pushed back as hard as he could into the corner of the black room, where there was a small puddle of bright, yet somehow shadowy, light. Edward's father slowly advanced, his impossibly large and looming body and shabby, tattered clothing visible in the oddly shadowy light, his face shrouded in nearly tangible darkness. "NO!" he shrieked as his father raised his hand. Edward covered his head with his arms and closed his eyes, wrenching them shut tight in anticipation for the impact. When no blow came, he opened his eyes and looked through the gap in between his arms timidly. Edward's father had raised his hand to remove something from his head: a burlap sack, which he tossed on the ground. Edward -ever curious- inched forward and snatched it up. _Not a sack_, he realized as he turned it over in his hands. _A mask_. Uneven eye holes with stitches sewing them mostly shut, a lopsided mouth with what appeared to be a filter, like for a gas mask. Edward looked back at his father questioningly, and his father leaned down so Edward could at last see his face. But it wasn't the face of his father, it was the face of Dr. Jonathan Crane. He was grinning toothily, his normally blank eyes alight with joy and excitement.

"Poor little Eddie," Scarecrow crooned. His usually creepy and toneless voice was replaced by one even more eerie with emotion and a faint echo. "Scared of your daddy?" he cackled. Crane circled around the young Eddie like an emaciated shark.

Edward whimpered. Under normal circumstances, Crane would be no more intimidating than a baby rabbit. He was creepy, yes, but intimidating, no. Panic crowded Edward's normally collected and focused thoughts. He hated the feeling. Scarecrow must have drugged him. He began to hyperventilate, thinking of everything that could go wrong. What if he had an allergic reaction to the toxin? Or what if he was actually dead and this was someone's idea of hell? Each thought was more irrational and less sane than the last. The tiny amounts of logic left in his head attempted to tell the rest of his panicked brain that this was an illusion, it wasn't real, he was making it up himself as he went along, but the majority ruled and his mind refused to listen; the puny and shriveling logic and reasoning curled up into a ball in the inaccessible regions of his brain. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a shaky and quiet squeak, and this caused Scarecrow to roar with laughter again.

"Looks like little Eddie is scared!" he exclaimed. "Good." Crane's face briefly flashed to that of Edward's father and then back. Edward felt himself grow older, but the age did not make him wise. He still had the shattered mind of a child going through intense emotional trauma. The room brightened, elongated, changed. It had too-white, too-clean walls with an irritatingly harsh fluorescent glow and dirty windows. After a moment, he realized where he was.

"No! Not back here! Never again!" he cried out, his voice high and tense with terror. It was as if his mind was the high 'E' string on a guitar that was tuned too tight and too hard of a strum would snap it in half and render it useless. He was on the verge of tears as the walls tightened around him like a cell. And that's where he was; His cell in Arkham Asylum. He pounded his fists on the walls. The walls had been repainted, but the faint outlines of riddles and question marks were still there. You couldn't wash out blood that easily. He noticed the faint stains were fading before his eyes. He was fading and being forgotten. "Let me out!" he yelled, his tears of terror breaching the brims of his eyelids. "Let me out! Please! I don't belong here!" he screamed. He was openly sobbing now.

Scarecrow clicked his tongue as he appeared on the other side of the door. His mask was back on and that sent a jolt through Eddie. Crane's arms were crossed over his chest, as if he were impatient. _No_, Edward realized. _He's taunting me_. He grew angry for a moment before Scarecrow said, "Eddie, you know if you yell, _they _will come and _make_ you be quiet." Edward's eyes widened as he saw two guards form on either side of Scarecrow. One was holding a billy-club and the other was cracking his knuckles. Edward covered his mouth and backed up, tripping over the cot he slept on as a patient here. He hit the back of his head against the wall and his eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes, he was in a room reminiscent of Arkham. The room was white, the windows weren't clean, the fluorescent lights hurt his eyes, but he realized it was a hospital, not Arkham. He was looking at himself. Edward believed it to be a mirror until he realized that the body below him wasn't moving like he himself was. He watched himself lying on a hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of machines. Heart monitor, IV, a device that forced him to breathe, a device that fed him intravenously, others of that nature. Like he was struck by lightning, it hit him how much he looked like his father. He never noticed it when he was looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was there before and he just didn't notice it, or maybe it was the drugs playing tricks on him. A shudder went down his back that he couldn't quite explain. "Why am I scared of this?" he asked in a small voice, knowing he would dread the answer.

"Exhibit A," Scarecrow chimed as he materialized next to the bed ridden Edward. "One _brain-dead_, _comatose_, _useless_ and _alone_ Edward Nygma." He said, poking the lifeless but living man's cheek with each word. Even though Crane had touched to other Edward's face, the "real" Eddie felt the roughness of the fabric and the coolness of Crane's fingers beneath the gloves he was wearing on his own. Edward winced as he felt his already elevated heart rate skip a beat.

"Brain-dead?" he repeated in the form of a question, and then answering himself, "Brain-dead." He said flatly. His intelligence was the only this he had, the only thing he truly held dear.

"Oh, and this," Scarecrow said as an afterthought. He snapped his fingers and Edward was looking at himself again, this time actually into a mirror. A frightened but still handsome young man with red hair and green-grey eyes looked back at him fearfully with tear streaks on his cheeks and red, worried, distrustful eyes. Then, the image began to warp and contort violently. Edward closed his eyes, not wanting to see, but in the end he opened them anyway and he immediately wished he hadn't. The nose was a pig's snout, the teeth were largely overgrown and razor sharp, slicing up Edward's lips, cheeks, and gums every time he opened and closed his mouth. The cheekbones were sharply and unevenly jutting, rather than rounding attractively. The only things that were the same were the eyes, distinctive and horrified. He tasted blood in his mouth from his razor blade teeth and realized he had become the monster in the mirror. The monster shed a tear, and it burned his skin like acid.

"Such a shame," Crane's disembodied voice echoed and floated around him like a schizophrenic's nightmare. "You had such a pretty face." He cackled and the voice faded away to nothing, leaving Edward, the Monster, alone with the mirror, which he futilely attempted to smash. He sunk to the floor. All the terror from this ordeal slammed into him all at once like a tidal wave and he began screaming. He pushed his fists against both of his temples, and tears ran down his face, melting and burning the flesh. His terrified screams mingled dissonantly with Scarecrow's hysterical shrieking laughter. Edward felt that the fatal strum on the over tuned guitar that was his mind was coming. Edward uttered one final wail of despair before everything began to fade, and in the last instant before he blacked out, he hoped he was dying.


	2. Break

Edward felt softness around his head, like a halo. Perhaps it was a cloud? Was he floating? Maybe the God so many people claimed existed had mercy on his final pathetic moments and carried him into eternal happiness? That didn't seem likely considering his track record. He was aware of his breaths, slow and shuddery. He was aware of a faint light in the corner of his closed eyes. He smelled sweat and dust. He cautiously ran his tongue over his lips and tasted salt, like tears. Edward moved his arm that felt oddly heavy and disconnected from him somehow and put his hand over his forehead. A wave of gooseflesh washed over him when he felt someone touch his hand. He pulled back as quickly as his sluggish body would allow and bumped his head lightly on a wall behind him. His hands flashed protectively to his head and he sat up in horror. Was he back in a cell? Cells didn't have clouds in them. Then a voice, monotone and quiet, spoke up. "Edward, are you awake? Can you hear me?" There was an eerie quality to the questions. Rather than raising the pitch at the end like a question normally does, the note remained the same; it sounded like a statement. He recognized the voice and started shaking. He opened his eyes to see the scrawny Dr. Crane sitting at the foot of the bed he was lying in. Crane, not Scarecrow. Nigma narrowed his eyes at him, but not distrustfully. He was trying to let his eyes adjust to the semi-brightness in the room. He'd been in this room before, of course. Several times.

"Johnny," he said with a familiar but wary tone. "How did I do?" he asked, his pitch rising normally. Crane shrugged and made a wobbly gesture with his hand. Edward read the gesture and slid his head back to his cloudy pillow and replaced his hand over his forehead. "Better than last time." He muttered. His head hurt. "I felt worse at the end," he said. His tone had darkened from its normal sarcastic tone to one of melancholy introspection. "I hoped I was dying."

"You have improved," Jonathan said reassuringly. "Make no mistake. It's just that some of your fears are so deep rooted that it will take a lot of time to completely eradicate them." Crane stood; his wiry frame was now silhouetted by the light he was blocking. "Come into the kitchen when you're ready for something to eat," he said almost fatherly. Crane left the room and Edward immediately followed.

"I no longer fear flying," Edward said with a proud tone. "That was one you said came from a deep-rooted fear of not being in control. That and the acrophobia. Both are gone, now." Although no thank-you was said, it was implied. Edward showing gratitude? Ha!

It was hard for Edward to trust Jonathan now. That was something he regretted. Before, they were not exactly friends, but they had the trust of strong allies. Seeing Jon as Scarecrow and being the brunt of the attack, even voluntarily, was an unsettling thing. Especially since Edward was currently living with him as a resident guinea pig. Voluntarily. He wasn't repeating the word 'voluntarily' to himself as a lie or a forced truth, but because it was amazing to him what he put himself through to become perfect. The partnership had worked out well so far; Scarecrow got to perform experiments and research on one of his "most interesting and challenging cases" and Edward had the opportunity to become not only the man with all the answers, but the man with no fears.

"So, Dr. Crane, how is your research on me going?" Edward asked. "I know you relish the opportunity to study patients again." He stated. Although it sometimes struck a nerve, Edward enjoyed poking fun at Crane. Dangerous, certainly, but in Edward's mind, a fair rebuttal to the fear toxin he was assaulted with on a weekly basis, assaulted being a fitting word here. Seeing as Edward was voluntarily here (he really was crazy…) the only way to get the best possible response to the toxin was by surprise attack. Or so Dr. Crane claimed. Edward suspected it was Scarecrow's sadistic mind that liked to see the amplified effects the drug has on patients who have surprise mixed in with their terror.

"It's going well," he replied. Edward snorted, as if to say 'Yeah, that's why I wish death upon myself at the end of each session.' "No, really, it's going very well." Crane reassured him. "Your increasingly violent reactions and the worsening of the hallucinations is a sign that the treatment is getting to you." Crane realized that sounded bad. "What I mean is, your brain is trying to force you to keep the fear inside of you, the healthy fear, by making things worse for you. It's trying to keep you safe. Your willingly repeating the worst possible version of each fear is wearing that reflex down. Eventually, you will be mostly immune to fear as your mind will be unable to process it as an emotion." That sounded just as bad, but at least it was technical. Edward should appreciate that. "I, for example, have been exposed to my own toxin so many times that it is nearly impossible for me to feel anything resembling fear. I cannot, however, completely rid myself of it. No one can. It's an impossibility due to nature." Crane mused while walking back to the kitchen table with a couple sandwiches and sodas. Edward was glaring at Jonathan.

"You mean to tell me that I've been putting myself through this to become fearless and that's impossible? You've been leading me on, using me as experimental fodder!" he cried accusatorily. "What about Batman? What does he fear? Joker? He has no regard to his own life. Far from bravery, but isn't it fearlessness? And what does the great Dr. Crane fear?" Edward went into a rant of questions. "Every question has an answer and every answer must be found." He said, standing glowering slightly down at Crane. Edward stood at 6'1" and Scarecrow at 6'. Sometimes the one inch seemed like a much larger distance.

"Eddie," Jonathan said cautiously. "I assumed you realized this, being as intelligent as you are." He said, appealing to Riddler's sense of pride. "Obviously, it's impossible. Nature does not allow lack of all fears. Even those who claim fearlessness have deep-rooted fears. Cockiness, narcissism, a showy attitude, all are classic signs of a buried fear of inadequacy and lack of self importance." He only felt comfortable making that last statement because Edward already knew about the truth behind his narcissism. "And to answer your questions, in my studies of Batman, from afar, of course, he is afraid of his symbol, the bat. He uses it to make others fear his fear. I suspect something happened to him in his childhood involving bats. As for Joker, I believe he fears remembering his past and knowing his true identity. Taking on the persona of a clown with such commitment obviously ties into a deep sense of self-rejection. He was likely abused and or abandoned. I myself fear the Batman. Who in their right mind doesn't? Even those in the wrong mind… Especially those…" he trailed off. He answered Edward's entire question-oriented rant in rapid succession. He needed Edward to stay. He had more research to do on him.


End file.
